


Thrice Graced

by Dawn_leaps_about



Category: The Wandering Inn - pirateaba
Genre: Chess, Cute, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Funny, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_leaps_about/pseuds/Dawn_leaps_about
Summary: Rumor has it, Niers is cursed. But sometimes, there's good along with the bad.
Relationships: Niers Astoragon/Erin Solstice
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Written in early/mid Vol. 7, so spoilers through then. [Niers at the Inn AU]

Niers Astoragon plodded through the Garden from his room to the dining room of The Wandering Inn and flopped down at a table against the wall, the only one unoccupied with a chessboard.

Spying him, Erin brightened and began making her way to join him, shooing away any guests who took the opportunity to approach. He wondered, nonchalantly, if he could convince her put him out of his misery, to finish with her frying pan what his head was doing to itself already, but no.

"You’re just in time!" she said. "Breakfast is almost gone. I hope it’s a good morning." She gave him a once-over. "Is it a good morning?"

"Hope is a wonderful thing." Niers yawned sourly, moving a pawn forward.

No, it was not a good morning. And cruel of her to remind him of his own abject failure in that respect. As far as he could tell, guests of the inn slept better than soundly. One of these days, if he ever managed to fall asleep in the first place, maybe he'd get to see what the fuss was about. He walked back through the chess pieces.

"Well, it's a good morning for me," she said.

Some of the bystanders - gawkers, all of them - slid their chairs closer and craned their necks. He disregarded them as [Busybodies]. A blend of magic and misinformation protected his anonymity, such as it was. It was both fragile and temporary, but Erin’s chess games always took center stage. He had no way around that.

Niers combed his hair with his fingers and used the motion to disguise a rub at his temples. He tried to be cheerful, desperately wanted to be. But, even though the sky said it was morning, his body told him it was the middle of the night.

Vacation, he tried to think. Vacation.

Erin tilted her head, still looking at him, and leaned in to whisper.

"I have an idea for Chess Club, later. I think you’ll like it."

She smiled at him, then moved a pawn. He moved a bishop, she a knight. He walked over to another pawn, stared at it, blinking, and he concentrated through the light pounding behind his forehead. More accurately, he tried to concentrate.

"I’m listening." What else could he do? He waited for her to go on as well as for his mind to catch up to where it should be this time of day.

"When everyone gets here, you and I each pick one of the players. Draw names from a hat or something? We'll each coach one of them, and then they’ll play against each other."

He pretended to consider the notion, trying to drag out the silence while he worked on a puzzle or two of his own. They resumed maneuvering pieces.

To most of the Club’s members, Niers was a [Teacher] on sabbatical who had travelled to Izril seeking the origin of the well-known chess magazine. This pretense, insofar as it was a pretense at all, hid just enough of Niers’ identity from anyone who cared about such things. At the same time, his cover remained irrelevant to everyone who didn’t.

"It’s a good idea, not too much of a change from normal, though," he said finally. A very clever idea - fog of war, risk of miscommunication, uneven teams. He could _use_ this! Moreover, it was a compromise between Erin’s fondness of coaching chess players and his desire to avoid lectures.

To be specific, he wished to avoid listening to Erin’s lectures to beginners, which were quite dry.

"But," he continued diplomatically, "for one thing, I’m supposed to be researching, not teaching, and for another it isn’t a fair measure of talent." He couldn't let her have the win so easily. "Bear in mind, I teach more than you do, and the players themselves have… generally different levels of skill."

"Now you're being contrary on purpose."

"I would never!" He tried not to overdo his gasp of outrage, and he quietly begged the pressure in his head to cease.

"This is for fun, not to measure anything! Besides, that makes it an even better fit since you have more practice teaching, and I’m better at playing chess. See?"

He’d just made an error, and she took one of his pawns.

"Is it because it’s morning? You should eat," she coaxed. The ache in his skull was growing.

"That was on purpose." A lie. "I'm experimenting with a move I’ve never played before." Another lie, this one forced into a truth by the fact that he was obliged to play a disadvantaged position after his blunder. He sighed. "Fine." She plucked him from the table and dropped him on her shoulder, and he climbed the kerchief in her hair to sit atop her head. Here, the smell of oats and honey was the most powerful.

She built a plate from the self-serve breakfast under his direction and poured a cup of hot, dark liquid something before returning to their table.

"You're right, though; it does sound fun," he agreed, hopping down and yawning again. "It also sounds like there are too many variables involved to provide insights to, or improve skill at, chess. Isn’t that the point of Chess Club?" Incidentally, those extra variables were the very reason he thought her idea would be fun for him in particular. He should organize something like it for one of his classes. "And _what_ under the sun are you drinking?"

"You sound just like a [Teacher]."

"I _am_ a teacher." He didn't need to lie, for that one.

"Right, except you're on vacation. Yup. I remember."

"Vacation to learn about the benefits of _chess_." He darted her a significant look.

"Have you tried thinking of chess less like a one-on-one competition where all you’re doing is looking for patterns, anticipating people, and thinking ahead, and instead more like a thing you do just to pass the time that also makes you happy?"

His Skills sizzled in warning that he was about to walk into a trap. He changed what he had been going to say.

"Erin, that’s exactly what chess is. It’s all of that."

"So, it sounds like what you’re saying is, we're in agreement," she said pragmatically, spooning the umber beverage into a tiny cup. "You’re saying that happiness is _a_ point of Chess Club, even if not everyone gets 'insights and improvements'?"

She had him cornered, there.

"I suppose," he grumbled, sore.

She nodded once, firmly. "Do you want to give my plan a try?"

What Niers wanted was to hear Erin sing, to know one of the songs that she knew, or at the very least to learn what fathomable reason she could possibly have had for taking levels as a [Singer], of all things.

"Yes. That’s what I want."

"Good. And this, here, is not for me. It’s for you." She indicated the… brew… and handed him the cup. "It’s supposed to taste, um, caffeinated? And it’s the blackest tea I could find on super short notice. So, let me know if it works, okay?"

"It smells like something scraped from a fireplace." His lip curled a fraction before he could stop it.

"There’s roots in it. And roasted grain. Some other stuff too, I think."

"Does it have any, and I mean this literally, actual tea?" He braved a sip.

"Warm, brown water is tea by definition," she explained, helpfully.

"Eugh. It tastes better than it smells, and that’s the best I can say."

"So, it doesn’t taste like tea?"

"Not like _tea,_ tea. This is different."

"And it tastes like…?"

"The bouquet is decidedly…" he paused to think and smacked his lips, hoping he looked contemplative rather than afflicted. "Jungle floor? But the flavor has mild notes of, I think, tree bark and boot leather."

"I have no clue what you mean."

"He means dirt, Erin. Your tea tastes like dirt." Lyonette, making her rounds with a pitcher, laid a little saucer bearing chocolate and a serving of cream at their table. "For the tea, sir."

"Hey, Lyonette, while you’re here?" Erin pushed her empty water cup closer, and Lyonette complied. "Thanks!"

Smiling smugly at her friend, Lyonette replied, "Anything for you, Erin." She gave Niers the briefest glance possible.

Oh, that "barmaid" knew. Definitely knew. Which meant, most likely, that he wasn't nearly as subtle as he meant to be.

Erin had probably told her of Niers’ identity, if not his real reason for visiting, but more likely that she’d guessed it first.

His face a chronicle of discomfort, Niers sipped again and nodded his head in thanks. Lyonette gave a kind nod in return and departed in the direction of another busy table.

"Oh. Um." Erin deflated. She had been so optimistic. "You don't have to finish it, if it's bad. The [Shopkeeper] said this tea would have more flavor than the last one. I'll make an order for some real tea as soon as I can. I bet Lyonette will know what to look for."

"How have you not served ordinary tea already?" he asked, baffled.

"We did! I just… used it all."

"Have you tasted this? Because it does have more flavor: _bad_ flavor. I'll know if this works before we finish the next game or two. And if it does? I won't care what it tastes like." He broke the chocolate and heaped the fragments into his bag of holding as a contingency. "Hm, the cream helps."

"I'm crossing my fingers for you, then. But, maybe save the ‘Astoragon Gambit’ for, uh, academic inquiry. It's not working out for you." She advanced a bishop aggressively, taking his rook.

"The what?" He froze, quietly paralyzed, just before taking another sip.

A hush blanketed the room at the mention of his true name, forks halted en route to mouths, and not even breathing stirred the air. Conversations stilled, every ear shifted slightly to them, and some turned to stare outright.

A few of the gawkers, eager for chess news, prepared to take notes. They were surely [Informants] at worst and [Blabbermouths] at best. His own breath snagged, too. If they didn’t know who he was, or believe it, then he didn’t want to give them any ideas. The wrong word could ruin _everything._

"Your move, just now. Where you left a major piece high and dry, and you have nothing gained at all, basically gave it away? We can name it after…" she looked at him pointedly, heedless, grinning behind her cup of water. " _You_ know! Like an honorary thing. But in a funny way. It’ll be famous!"

"No!" he hissed. "No, that’s the _opposite_ of what w- what I need right now!"

He threw his cup to the table, and Erin narrowed her eyes. The dull throbbing in his head was all he could feel. The cup rolled and settled, and droplets of tea splashed the chessboard.

But Erin was focused. Calm. Erin blinked once, slowly, and her aura flooded the inn. She eyed her other guests expressionlessly, and they hurried to look away. Hushed discussion and sounds of breakfast resumed.

She gestured to the wall by their table where a Fraerling-sized door appeared, her hand open towards it in invitation. Niers stomped through as she rose to step through a Human-sized door herself.

Together they entered the Garden of Sanctuary, appearing in it side by side, but he trudged a few steps farther. The doors disappeared.

He closed his eyes and shook his head before turning.

"We’re okay here, Niers," Erin said coolly. Patience, concentration.

"Chess Club needs _less_ celebrity, not more." He faced her, his concern written plain. "This, Liscor, your inn, my vacation… Erin, it’s risky _at best._ "

"Just for right now, though." She tried to think peaceful thoughts. "Vacations are relaxing, right?"

"Speak for yourself, thunder-pulse!" he mumbled and kicked at the ground, raking fingers through his hair. He couldn’t be completely incognito, and the protection of a low profile was meager, but it helped.

"It’s safe." She sat in the lush grass. Calm.

"Safety is an illusion! I have..." he let himself trail off, reigning his abrupt flare of panic. Enemies, was what he had. "I have too many people who want to know where I am already. Dangerous people." A danger to _her._

"Yeah. Thanks, but I kinda pieced that one together on my own."

Right then, he found his breath. And, he had to face it, the tea wasn't working. He fished around in his bag for one of the larger portions of chocolate, wishing he had an extra portion of subtlety in there while he was at it.

Erin went on.

"I get it, and hey, I'm sorry. You're right, too. It's not always safe here, not really. Not from the undead, not from Gazi. Definitely not safe from the crelers." She smiled humorlessly. "We just have to try and be ready."

"You still haven't told me those stories. You should." The list was sobering. He walked over to sit on her knee and offered her a slice of the bitter candy, which she took. "Now's a good time."

"Sure, sure. Has anyone told you--" she began, and almost stopped herself, "that you can be a little bit of a jerk when you're grumpy?"

Niers smiled. Despite every riddle of hers that he had yet to solve, sometimes she just handed him an answer.

"In truth? It’s been a long time since anyone called me a jerk, to my face at least." Not a jerk, verbatim. His posture relaxed, and his expression grew happier. "But yes, Erin. Yes." He inclined his head towards her in mock seriousness. "Everyone calls me little."

She sputtered through her nose, and a shocked giggle burst from her.

Wrongly or not, Niers assumed it was the polite and decent thing not to pry about Erin’s [Singer] class and, hence, had yet to hear _about_ a song, let alone any actual tune from her mouth. Also, he accepted this because there were other, richer sounds that he favored.

Effervescent peals of laughter flew free from her throat, ringing crystalline through the Garden. The air sparkled with magnetic joy, and she shook with deep, hot gasps, eyes crinkled to near-blindness. Her voice was a serenade upended, left no part of him untouched.

Thus Erin Solstice regaled him, and her smile shone on him, bright.

_Music._


	2. Chess

To his great relief, the period between the end of breakfast and the end of the lunch rush gave Niers just enough time for a trip to Stitchworks, the Runner's Guild, and then the Wailant farm, of all places. He followed this with a long soak in a small bathtub. Indulgent, but shorter than he would have liked. He could luxuriate some other day.

While Niers was off being a tourist, Erin, on the other hand, used the time before the end of the lunch rush to, well, help out with the lunch rush. After that, Erin had enough time to freshen up, and the inn’s staff removed any food spies and potential gawkers to the private dining rooms.

Scrying orbs of any kind were strictly prohibited during Chess Club. Erin had never questioned this stipulation.

"Ready?" Erin knocked at Niers’ door before entering backwards.

"Yes. It’s fine."

"Does that mean you’re-"

"Fully clothed! Let’s go!"

He was already sailing in the air as she turned. He'd jumped low, an easy catch, right toward her hands. They still smelled of oats. Did they always? He made his way to her shoulder, and she carried his still-warm bathtub downstairs.

Every table save the largest ones now stood near the middle of the common dining area, each with a chessboard. Liscorian [Tacticians], [Strategists], and novice chess fans occupied the chairs, already engaged.

"Look at… hold on. What, ah," he murmured, eying the many boards, "what is going on here?"

"Oh, haha, glad you noticed. Funny thing. So," Erin explained with an unsure smile, "there’s this new style of play they’re practicing, where everyone tries to lose their queen as soon as possible. Pretty questionable, if you ask me."

"What’s it called?"

Did she know of some significance to that particular combination, some hidden meaning?

"Dubious? Unwise? Highly unusual."

"No, I mean the terrible moves, giving away a queen. What are they calling that style?" He couldn't bring himself to name it a ‘strategy’, or even a ‘tactic’. Niers dreaded the answer. He jumped to one of the tabletops so she wouldn’t hear him groan.

"Um…"

"The Titan’s Gambit!" Vesphia and Brimyk, two aged Drakes widely known for both their minimal interest in chess and their love of teasing each other, chorused from a nearby table. They cackled and continued playing.

"Why?" Niers didn’t really expect an answer. It was neither his style nor a gambit.

"It is more impressive, Professor. Probably." Bird answered, taking a seat. "When you win."

" _If_ you win." This could be a disaster for his reputation!

"Ah. So, is it a display of strength?" They both looked to Erin for confirmation, but she was mesmerized by the Drakes’ game. They hadn’t stopped with sacrificing their queens; they were giggling and trying to lose deliberately, positioning as many pieces to be captured as possible.

Erin clapped her hands to her mouth. "They’re playing antichess!" She danced on her toes. _"Losing Chess!"_

She ran to find Olesm and gently pushed him into the chair opposite Bird, who was resetting the board's pieces.

"Losing Chess is fun! Here, play against Bird, he's great at losing!"

"What Erin says is true," Bird added. "I conduct myself with dignity in both victory and defeat. Many have told me so."

"You'll love it," she continued. "It's just like regular chess. Except, the first player to lose, wins!"

Fraerling, Antinium, and Drake all stared at her, skeptical and somewhat dazed. Olesm tipped over his king and raised his arms to the ceiling.

* * *

The ban in Liscor on a sensational new fad, Losing Chess, was short-lived and, by all accounts, useful. The city’s [Strategist] declared it and then lifted it mere hours later, despite not acting in any official capacity at the time, yet the ban’s brief life allowed the Liscorian Chess Club to move peaceably from disharmony to more productive pursuits:

Namely, the chess match between Bird the [Hunter], as coached by Erin Solstice, versus [Strategist] Olesm Swifttail, as coached by a friendly and knowledgeable passerby. And here, Niers and Erin found the problem with their plan.

Bird opened with a pawn to F3. Niers barked a short laugh.

"Never play F3, Bird; we're not playing Losing Chess any more!" Erin dispensed the advice yet again, but Bird played by his own rules, sometimes.

"Unless your opponent is me. Then, always play F3," Niers quickly threw in. He’d played against Bird before.

"I wish to perform a display of strength, Erin. This is daring and confident."

" _Winning_ accomplishes that, too. Let's win this one!"

"What if we participated in verbal taunting, Mister Olesm?"

"Ah, no, that’s unnecessary," Erin interrupted, rubbing at her stomach. "Name-calling isn’t nice. We're all friends here, right?"

"But I feel it is an acceptable show of bravery, as long as Mister Olesm agrees."

"No taking back your move, though," Niers insisted.

"Uh, sure thing, Bird. Why not?" Olesm shrugged, rubbing at the light blue scales on his neck. He could tolerate some name-calling if Bird was committed to his absurd opening move. Besides, it was _Bird_.

"Then it is your turn," said Bird, tentatively, "Scaly-face."

A small crowd had gathered closer to the four but none laughed, none tittered or even spoke. They eyed the two opponents. Olesm stopped scratching.

"Ah," said Bird, noticing. "Is this your desired approach to ridicule?"

"Perfectly acceptable, Bird, why? Are you _missing_ something?"

"I never miss, Olesm. Ah! I see! Then I am glad you are sure. For a moment I thought we were _both_ spineless."

"Far from it! Trading insults can be like a… contest of wits. You’re right on target." Olesm volunteered, then paused just a bit. "For once."

"It may be so. But how very unlike a [Strategist]. For you to attend battle unarmed."

A few muffled snorts sprang from somewhere in their audience. Niers struggled to contain himself, and Olesm, mouth agape, still hadn’t taken his turn.

"Hey now," Erin rushed to interrupt, again, "in professional or tournament play, the competitors aren't allowed to talk."

"But, their mentors may speak, right?" Olesm offered reasonably.

"Well, I guess, yeah. We _are_ coaching you, sort of."

"Careful. It’s your turn now, Olesm--" Niers prompted, cutting off with a cough. "Friend."

Olesm thought for a few seconds, then moved a pawn to C6. Erin cocked an eye at Olesm, then the board. Then at Niers, then Olesm.

"Aha! And no sneaky codes between the [Strategists], you sneaks! That’s cheating!"

"Receiving a coded message unexpectedly is a valuable lesson for a [Strategist]!"

"Chess Club is for _chess_! He can learn war things someplace else!"

Niers shrugged and Olesm, at least, had the decency to duck his head in embarrassment.

"So, I shouldn’t have said anything, either. Hmm," Erin said upon reflection. She concentrated. Something was off.

"I think you’re afraid Bird couldn’t have won with me helping Olesm," Niers mused, in unusually high spirits. He knew she feared nothing of the sort, and certainly not that in particular. She knew it was possible, strictly speaking, but she didn’t fear it. Erin seized the inspiration.

"Know who else would say that?" she said, lips twitching. "An unreasoned blanket-clutcher, that’s who."

See, if she and Niers simply told Bird and Olesm what moves they thought were best, then they might as well play against each other. But if they said nothing, they might as well be elsewhere.

Niers was bent double in laughter, breathless. Unable to help it, he let himself fall limply to the table. He slapped the wooden surface and swelled with merriment. "Do it-" he could barely find words between laughs. He grew a touch wistful as he regained composure. "Do it again," he pleaded.

"Don’t you think it’s rude?" She _tsked_ at him, smiling, but he had buried his face in his arms as he kept laughing.

"It’s only a game, Erin," he managed. "You can’t offend me." How very true that was, Erin didn’t realize, but that clinched it.

"Bold words," she huffed, "for a finger-nibbling trickster."

This time, his laughter came in pure notes. He clutched at his sides as he howled and tried to stagger upright, the bliss of it liquid. Something he could well-nigh drown in. It sliced through the noise of chess around them, and it drenched him, pulling him under.

The [Innkeeper] pursed her lips and had to smile; his cheer was infectious, and he was, after all, her friend.

The Antinium and Drake halted their game to observe Niers, who abandoned his efforts to stand and instead rolled to look up at Erin. He made vague sounds, raised one arm and waved it eagerly. Erin rolled her eyes.

She held up a hand, palm facing him.

Niers rose and leapt to give Erin an expert high-five. She chuckled, but she shook her head, too.

"No, see? This!" she said around her laughs, "This isn’t working. You and me?" Moving to sit at his end of the table, she jabbed her finger in Niers' direction. "We’re on the same side, now." She placed him on her head, unprompted. "No more one-person-coaching, no more secret messages! We help them both, together."

"Or taunt them?"

"Not if they don’t want us to," she relented.

"Twice as much good advice it is, then."

"Again, only if they want it! We don’t want to be all interrupty."

The temporary revival of Liscor's Chess Club held a high place among a number of novel distractions found during Niers' vacation, perhaps a distant second to conversation with the [Innkeeper] herself. Maybe third. No, tied for third.

Like this he could feel, vividly, the difference between playing chess with Erin from thousands of miles away and playing in person. Miles apart, Erin played chess by skill and by theory, with a deep understanding of the game. Face-to-face, he might read her expression occasionally for some advantage, but she spoke, too. Conversed, chattered, joked, teased. Counseled and encouraged.

Leaving Bird and Olesm to their game, they walked between tables, or Erin walked and Niers hitched a ride, and a few members of their earlier audience followed. Discreetly, or so they thought. Together, the two answered questions as well as offered opinions.

"Erin, if you are not busy, what do you think of this game?"

"Let’s see, hm. Hmm. I think your problem, Pawn, is that you have weak dark squares near your king, and that's dangerous. But lucky for you, Lyonette’s problem is that she's losing."

Pawn paused to consider this.

"It’s my turn to move, Erin. What do you think of rook to F8?" Lyonette felt it unlikely she could salvage a win, but she’d have fun trying.

"Huh. Rook to F8? Um, well, Lyonette, rook to F8 is a chess move." She tried to sound positive. "It is definitely a chess move, alright."

"Professor, what would you recommend? In your expert opinion, that is."

"Do you want to lose like an expert, Miss Lyonette? Play rook F8."

"Aww, it’s not so bad!" Erin poked blindly at Niers, who dodged easily. "It might be worth trying. Remember what I always say about trying?"

"That trying inevitably leads to failure?" Pawn remembered it being something along that line.

"No, I’m… I’m sure I’ve never said that."

"That all failure begins with trying?" Bird interjected, overhearing.

"I guess that's technically true, Bird, but--" She covered her eyes with both hands.

Playing along, it was Lyonette's turn to chime in.

"That never trying is the same as never failing?"

Erin shook her head and spelled it out for them.

"That not trying is the _final failure_. You won’t improve unless you try sometimes. For the most part. Close enough!"

Erin could feel Niers shaking with silent laughter. He jumped and landed on the chessboard. He stomped one foot on the board, loud enough to startle them to attention. Or as loud as you might expect, given his stature.

"Too much talking! Not enough blundering!"

Both smiling, Erin eventually wandered to a neighboring table, and Niers followed with an elegant running jump.

Niers knew that the account of Erin gaining [Singer] levels had to be a wholesome one. Similarly, everyone else who knew Erin, even those who hadn’t heard the original story already, would agree. And, incidentally, everyone would be right.

All the same, despite knowing next to nothing in that regard, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Botez Gambit, not to be confused with the Titan's Gambit, is, in general, not played intentionally.


	3. Surprise

That afternoon, after Chess Club, Erin dragged Lyonette to Invrisil, ostensibly to order a shipment of tea - actual tea - and Olesm paid visits to several Merchant’s and Mage’s Guilds via the magic door on business of his own, which of course was as Niers’ proxy. Arranging a network of messages and decoys was a valuable lesson for a [Strategist], too. Equally important? Erin did, in fact, order tea.

The following morning had Niers wondering, in quite an uncharitable fashion, what sort of bumble-fingered ceiling thumper would order a delivery of tea - actual tea - at all possible speed yet _not_ bring a small package, an emergency supply, a single helping, back with her.

It was for thoughts like these, not to mention the [Spies], [Food Crooks], and [Blabbermouths], that morning chess between Erin and Niers had been relegated to one of the private dining rooms. Niers appreciated that they could speak more freely, and Erin hoped that that would make him more perky.

She’d be perfectly satisfied with ‘less grouchy’, though. He really did seem impaired. He'd already lost their first game, clumsily no less.

She played as the black side for the second game, and he opened with a pawn to E4.

"Uh oh, that was bad! For you, I mean. I’ve got this in the bag." She played a pawn to C5, eyes alight.

"Of all the..." He moved his knight to F3 and didn't finish the sentence. Interesting of her, and odd. Maybe silly. Perhaps, devious? "I'm fine. Just play."

"But I have a good instinct for these things! Inn-stinct? Gah! No!" She momentarily recoiled in disgust. "I’m giving you fair warning. Consider yourself warned! Today is a special day, you know." She moved a knight as well.

The Fraerling bumped into his queen on the way to a pawn. When he moved the pawn forward, Erin arched an eyebrow with wry amusement. His head pounded dully behind his eyes.

"We've barely started."

"You're gonna lose your queen any moment now. It's your signature move!" She tapped her chin. "Give it a dozen turns, no more than twenty. Eat this."

"That's not my sig--" He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh before walking over to inspect the small plate she’d slid towards him. It held chocolate, already cut small enough for him to manage. He didn't _have_ a signature move. Certainly not!

He squirreled away several pieces of chocolate into his bag of holding, and then he grabbed two more from the saucer, one in either hand. "Why is today special?"

Frankly, it was far too late in the day to be un-caffeinated in general, never mind playing chess in such a state. Lacking tea of sufficient strength, or any real tea at all, evidently, the chocolate was his only source of caffeine.

He nibbled one piece, and he thought his headache started to fade, a bit. Maybe it was his imagination, but that would do.

"Well, first we had to wait for the milling and then the roasting and then it needed more milling." Her brow furrowed. "Can't remember why. But! Turns out, finding the... machine was the hardest part. And not ‘find’ so much as we needed a [Tinker] to build one. That’s what took so long. Hard to imagine no one has ever heard of it." She squinted, inspecting him from across the table. "Are you sure you’re from Baleros?"

"How could I not be sure?"

"Who knows? Life’s mysteries, Niers, life’s mysteries."

She was clearly stalling, which probably meant his last play was more clever than he’d thought, or that she was planning a deep trap. Determined not to let her get away with it, he fixed his gaze to the board. But, she’d already moved a pawn to D5, and now she waited on him. He captured the pawn with one of his own and looked at her. "Well?"

She examined his move for just a heartbeat before responding. "Huh? Well what?"

"The special day?"

"That? It's a surprise! It should be ready any minute, now. Just wait and see."

Niers just blinked at her. Erin sat on her hands and wriggled in anticipation.

The only thing he could think to do in cases of jubilant and distracted Erin was to ignore her needles; he’d suffered worse for less, for nothing at all even. He narrowed his eyes at her. What could make her so excited? Either she'd played a brilliant trap or he had, unlikely as that may be.

She advanced her queen, taking the pawn he’d just moved, and for a while they continued playing in relative quiet, focused on the game, until one of her Human friends squealed from outside their room.

"Erin! Erin, it’s working!"

"Finally!" Erin tripped out of her chair, knocking it over.

Righting the chair, Erin moved her knight to D5, and then she yanked the door open and ran.

"Yell when you move!" She careened into the kitchen, not looking back. "I call dibs!" Someone else groaned at her declaration, but no one voiced an objection.

Was this a kind of morning ritual for Humans from Erin’s world? Niers captured her knight with his bishop. Through the walls, the hopeful buzz crescendoed to a vigorous one.

"It’s your turn!" he yelled, as instructed.

The kitchen door was still swinging when Erin hollered back through it.

"Woo woo! Express train to Blundertown, here we go!" She made some incomprehensible noises. They weren't meant to be words, he was almost positive. "My pawn takes your bishop!"

He cursed under his breath and moved the piece for her.

He hadn’t told her his last play, just that it was her turn, but she'd known. Of course she’d known. And he _hated_ being predictable.

A few seconds later, the kitchen exploded into uproarious gaiety, and the din of exultant victory swept through the inn. After about a minute, it quieted to merely happy tears.

Was her earlier move a mistake, or a trap? He knew his next move already, but he decided to await her return before he played it.

Hushed, excited voices. The soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen. He pondered this patiently, idly, listening.

Most mornings, it happened. Sometimes not until afternoon. Either way, when it did happen then he would be in high spirits for truth.

Erin came back to the room wearing the smile of a returning conqueror. The other Humans remained in the kitchen, not noticing Erin’s departure. Not noticing, or not caring. She set a dainty cup on the table, one just big enough that he could have sat in it, however uncomfortably, and it brimmed with pitch dark liquid. It smelled vaguely of ash.

"More burnt-barley tea? You know that didn’t work."

"Ha! Not even close. Surprise! The cure to what ails you. It’s _coffee_. Espresso, or whatever." Erin would have been able to see the roll of his eyes if she had been looking. She intently stirred with a tiny spoon, a utensil no longer than one of her fingers, then she used it to ladle the midnight drink into a thimble-sized cup for him. An actual thimble, he noted, taking it from her.

He held the thimble under his face before daring to taste it, smelling the beverage through the steam. Bitter and... earthy? Reminiscent of his usual black tea, but also some kind of nut, maybe. All of this, yet with the slight char smell underneath.

"It smells the same as that tea," he said. "Close enough, at any rate." 

"Really? I believe it. Well, try it while it’s hot. It’s supposed to be best that way, either that or iced, but no good between."

"You don’t care for it?" It didn’t look like she’d brought enough for both of them. But, not knowing the appropriate custom, he wouldn’t have minded sharing.

"Nah, not my thing," she wrinkled her nose a bit and shrugged. "The taste is only part of why people like it. _If_ they like it. The smell’s okay though, right? Go on. Don’t be scared."

He rose to her bait, uncaring. Schooling his features to indifference, he drained the cup. Erin smirked, waiting, using the spoon to refill his thimble.

Niers waited, too, and accepted the refill. Between one deep breath and the next, his headache diminished. A second deep breath, then another, and it was gone. Vanished. He gasped. His mind cleared of fatigue, and his skin prickled with energy, revitalized. He took more time emptying the second helping, but not by much.

"What...?" He couldn’t think what to ask.

"Yeah?" Erin’s smile deepened.

"No magic? Not a potion?" Wide-eyed, he gazed at her as if witnessing a vision, a speaking dream, a treasure. She rested her chin in her hand, and her cheeks flushed. _Now?_

"Not even a Skill. Oh, hot tip! Melt chocolate in it." She removed her hand, but her smile remained, a guiding star.

"Dead gods!" he whispered and filed away her suggestion for later.

He didn’t bother her to refill his tiny cup and instead dunked the thimble into the teacup directly. He sat next to it, savoring the aroma, and took meditative sips of his third coffee, slowest yet this time. It was exceedingly bitter, but it didn’t taste far off from the smell. There was something familiar to it, something dark. She asked him a question, and he opened his eyes.

"Huh?"

"I said, it’s your turn." She smiled through a breathy chuckle. _Almost._ She smelled faintly of sage and seawater.

Abandoning the empty thimble, he wrapped his arms around the little cup of coffee, heedless of the unseasonable warmth. More laughter. So close, but not enough. He looked over his shoulder at the chessboard. Could he reach?

Niers Astoragon, perhaps the greatest [Strategist] in the world, second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing Company, the Titan of Baleros, scooted closer to the chessboard, and then he kicked his King to its side.

He scooted back to the cup and hugged it.

"Shhhhhh." He closed his eyes and, smiling, snuggled the warm porcelain as if it were a featherdown pillow. "Shh."

At last, he heard it; every patron of the inn must have heard it.

Gales of mirth tore from her chest, her lips. The melody of it washed over him; like a wave it rocked over his slight frame, and like waves crashing on the sand, it roared in his ears.

Her laughter began as normal, to the extent that it was ever normal, but then. Oh, then.

It rose from humor to hilarity to rapture, then she descended into near-hysterics, a fit of giggles. Her wheezes inched from ‘glee’ toward ‘absurdity’ and threatened to plunge into ‘concerning’ altogether. She knew, she must have known he wanted it, for her to let it carry on so.

He, still embracing a teacup, shut his eyes again. But he could still see her, could still taste the coffee on his tongue.

Perhaps she simply enjoyed it. After a while she rested her face in her arms on the table, shoulders shaking with staccato breath.

He helped himself to more coffee and walked closer at an even pace, pleased.

"Finished?"

"Almost--" Her answer came in a muffled whisper.

He returned to sit by the cup and leaned against it.

"If I fall asleep, just wake me."

Nearly spent, she let out a quiet squawk, and her laughter renewed in a fresh surge, but he waited, content. After a moment he released a slow sigh, and some of the tightness left his shoulders. The sound continued to fall as a calm rain, refreshing and sweet.

To him, she sang all the time.


	4. Gifts

The next morning, a fleet of Runners descended upon the inn.

Deliveries were a regular part of the inn's daily business, but they were typically large and never this many at once. Most of these Runners carried one small parcel, some two or three, and none were in bags of holding. None were the crates of eggs or giant sacks of flour that the inn regularly needed.

The first group of Runners arrived together after daybreak. Around the same time, Erin discovered the beginnings of a second anomaly through the magic door to Esthelm, Pallass, and Invrisil.

A crowd waited from each; again, not unusual in itself. However, the gatherings, obviously not all Runners, seemed more numerous than most days, and better than one in four people carried a container of some kind.

A third small shock, yet not the last: neither the Runners nor the other parties were destined for Erin. Or for the Inn. All of the packages and nearly all of the missives were addressed to Octavia Cotton or to Stitchworks more generally. A line of people waited outside her door, none of them empty-handed. Between one moment and the next, Lyonette went from wondering if she’d have enough seals for all of the Runners to wondering if Erin had done something spectacularly… spectacular without realizing it, again.

"It’s the cure, Erin. The _Occillium._ " Octavia, roused by the commotion, explained after reading some of the letters. "People just want to show their gratitude. All at the same time. As far as I can tell."

"Just to say thanks? But that’s great!"

"Seems that way. Skew my weft - a few of the Runners wanted to make sure someone will be available for _more_ live deliveries tomorrow!"

"Wait, more? Is that what's in all the boxes?"

"I guess a few of the senders were hoping I’d name a mold after them. Me!"

"You did amazing work, Octavia! Don’t forget for one second that you deserve recognition."

"But there’s not many molds here, now that I’m looking at it; there's other ingredients, and lots of those. Some of these are expensive!" She poked around in one of the shipments as she stacked them inside her shop. "And I’m no [Gardener]. And I can’t discover a miracle from just any living thing, even with help!"

Lyonette avoided making eye contact and continued sorting a small stack of mail, then handed one or two that had been mixed in the shuffle to Octavia.

As if that wasn’t enough? More messages and deliveries arrived the next day, as promised, and then into the next, from both Runners and through the magic door. [Alchemists], [Herbalists], and [Gardeners] alike from across the continent were taking it upon themselves to express their appreciation. 

Stitchworks by now had amassed a healthy collection of dried samples, cuttings, or entire specimens of over a hundred vines, shrubs, creepers, succulents, flowers, weeds, fungi, cacti, several algaes, and no few mosses. And that was counting neither the seeds, the duplicate ingredients Octavia already owned, nor the common weeds they’d thrown out.

A few more days this went on, and one morning Octavia asked Lyonette, since Erin was busy, for help sorting her by-now-outrageous pile of fan mail, and Lyonette in turn asked Niers for his counsel.

"Ah, this one is from someone in one of the Five Families. You can count on that. Nicely camouflaged, though," he pointed to the paper Lyonette held.

"You can tell that, from three sentences and no return address?" Octavia smoothed a wrinkle out of her shirt as Lyonette handed her the letter.

"Indeed. It’s a new stationary, but I’ve seen the handwriting. It’s from an accomplished [Scribe]. Whoever had it sent is admiring of your work."

"Then this must have come through Invrisil. Lyonette, I thought the door couldn’t interfere with Guild business?"

"And this one, aww, look!" Lyonette showed them a child’s drawing from the next envelope.

"How precious! Is that a [Sea Druid] ship?" Octavia took the sketch to hold it closer.

"I took it for moldy food and a potion."

"I think it’s you, Miss Cotton," Niers suggested; there was no telling for sure.

"But you’re correct about the door, Octavia. I believe the bearer of this one mentioned that they had promised their child that they’d give this to you in person."

"That’s the one, yes, and it came with a few pressed flowers."

"And are all of these gifts?"

"The packages have all been gifts so far. Everything’s letters and gifts."

"Then Magnolia’s restriction might not apply to them. They can’t send a Runner if they keep their promise to hand-deliver. On top of that, flowers may have had value once, but these dead ones won’t influence the natural order of trade."

Niers nodded his approval at her analysis. They resumed sorting the small piles, and Octavia found a particularly fascinating mold. She set it in the special area reserved for fungi when Lyonette called out.

"Octavia, I think there’s at least a dozen here from Baleros! Does that look right to you, Lord ah- Professor, sir?"

"You must be joking!" Octavia broke away from organizing to examine the letters.

"Certainly seems so. Here, I found one from the west," Niers scanned it and looked to the Stitch-Woman, "and they wish you ‘continued success in your avant-garde research.’ The one you’ve got there looks like it’s from a northern company."

"Dead…" Lyonette flipped through more papers, pulling out a few. "Octavia! You have correspondence from _three_ of the Four Great Companies of Baleros!"

Lyonette handed them to the overwhelmed [Alchemist], but Niers focused on one small letter in the leftover bunch. The two women huddled together, preoccupied. The envelope was unassuming, plain even, with a hand-written address. He unfolded the note within, and a fresh mint leaf, slightly rumpled, fell out. The message itself was short:

_good job._

Niers flushed crimson, muttered something about an aging chipmunk, and stormed away after making his excuses. The two Humans barely noticed.

Hawk even brought one of the packages about a week after the deluge began, but he said the job was small potatoes. Legitimately small potatoes, at first glance, which he’d seen packaged himself, though they were strangely colored and grown somewhat leafy.

Furthermore, Erin was downright lucky that he happened to pick up such a low-priority job himself, and he told her so. As a matter of fact, not long ago Hawk had had a critical delivery _to_ Oteslia, so he might as well have brought this one back with him, as well as others. Honestly, it was pure coincidence, he affirmed, handing over the container.

"Hey, nope, this one’s for Stitchworks, too, imagine that. It says ‘care of’ The Wandering Inn. No worries! I’ll make sure Octavia gets it."

Hawk made his characteristic pleasantries and departed, and Octavia entered in his wake, ready by now to receive mail at any minute. She opened the box Erin handed her and read the enclosed card, but said nothing. 

"More mushrooms? Is it herbs for once?"

Octavia remained silent and immobile. She looked at Erin. She gave Niers an apprehensive glance, for some strange reason, and Niers, sitting at a table with an espresso, stared at the wall. She looked at the card again, then looked at Erin, then at the package.

"No, Erin, this is something else," she answered in a flat voice.

Slowly, painstakingly, she removed the little bulbs and gingerly cupped them to her chest.

"Um, I should go. I have, ah, things, and orders. Orders to fill. I should… should go. See you, Erin."

Erin, for a moment alone amidst a dining room full of guests, considered the string of events. Not the normal chaos that hounded her inn over the past few weeks - that never ceased - but the deliveries.

She moseyed toward Niers, who didn’t bother keeping a straight face any longer.

" _What_ ," Erin inquired, sitting, "is going on here?"

"Glad you noticed. Ha. Funny story." He smiled along with her. "So, it’s a surprise for later. Better I showed you."

"Huh. I deserve that. That’s fair." She nodded to herself and was quiet for a moment. "You did all this? For Octavia?"

He was absolutely due credit, but that wasn’t her question.

"Of course not! Hardly any of it, but you’re not the only trendsetter. Word got out to some colleagues, plus a few other key individuals. And would you believe the stroke of luck? Everyone else with a green thumb decided to follow suit." He smiled like the cat who ate the canary; although, she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. "Happy accidents."

Erin reflected on his admission.

"Even the Wailants?"

"The what?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"Uh huh. A trendsetter." Erin kept her eye on the curve of his mouth.

"And a trickster. I like that one." He shot her a knowing grin, at once sly and open.

 _Canaries, beware,_ Erin made note. She took measured, steadying breaths.

"[Alchemists] need minerals and metals and stuff, too. I’m sure you know that."

"If I'm sure of anything," he countered in an unconcerned tone, "then I’m sure she’ll manage."

"Why?" She asked it levelly, unsure he’d answer in full.

"It needed doing. Baleros, as a whole, owes her a great debt, even now." He said it in earnest, his manner sincere. And he still looked utterly pleased with himself.

"Seems a bit extreme, to me," she responded, a twist lurking at the corners of her own mouth.

At this he laughed. "Now _that’s_ funny, coming from you."

"I stand by my opinion." Again Erin smiled, richly this time.

She waited for a response, but he ignored her bait.

"Alas." He stood and gave her a playful bow, not waiting to see if she’d continue. "Places to go, people to see!"

And like that, he was gone. Smiling, she sensed his dash through the Garden to his room and, later, out the magic door.

* * *

Sunset had come and just about gone, and something was missing. 

Chess was missing, that’s what, and Erin almost sat down in the fading light with her magic chessboard when she remembered. Jaw cracking in a yawn, she grabbed a little bag and focused on her impression of the inn, casting about for Niers.

She found him amid some short orange flowers in the jungle area of the Garden. Did it remind him of home?

"Hey," she said, looking amused.

He’d been staring at the sky but turned when he heard her approach. She returned his unchecked smile with one of her own. How could he be wide awake this time of night?

He sat atop a small orange box. Of course. She felt… a little bit stunned. _Of course_ , she thought again. Around the sides of the box he’d tied a ribbon, black with white dots, like a belt.

"I got you something." He swung his legs off the side and hopped down, beckoned her closer. "Hurry!"

"Hurry and what? What do I do?" She sat next to him and reached for the gift, uncertain.

"Just lift. It’s not closed. Careful…"

Sure enough, all but the bottom of the cube lifted away, and a small glass bowl, not quite as tall as he was, rested underneath.

It reminded Erin of a fish bowl, like a sphere but open at the top. Maybe a wide wine glass with no stem. Inside were three leafy bulbs resting on a layer of mud. A terrarium?

Niers checked the sky again.

"Here," he pointed to a spot away from the orange flowers, "move it into the light. Out of the shade."

Erin did so, though there wouldn’t be any light to speak of for much longer. Wasting no time, Niers dumped water into the glass from his tiny bag of holding until it overflowed. Running back to the orange box, he returned with a paper sachet, which he handed to her.

"Tell me what’s going on!" Erin’s smile flickered to life. Painfully curious by now, she accepted the packet. 

"Don’t smell that. Add it to the water. Quick!" he ordered. 

Niers backed away from the bowl to stand next to where she sat.

Erin held the envelope at arms’ length and ripped it open. She tipped it toward the water as Niers spoke.

"They’ve been made dormant for travel." A powder spilled into the dish. "This will wake them up, so to speak. A [Green Mage] could tell you more. Now we just need to wait."

"Hurry up and wait?" she prodded him.

"As long as we’re early, it’s fine. Just not late; you won’t want to miss it. _I_ don’t want to miss it!"

They could see the dirt and roots through the clear glass, and if not for that it might as well have been a floating salad. He glanced up again. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to keep himself from pacing, but he decided to sit when he noticed he was bouncing on his tiptoes.

"What are we waiting for?" Erin whispered.

"Moonlight. Lots of it," Niers whispered, too. "Why are we whispering?"

"Ahh," she hummed.

She seemed satisfied, curiosity enough deferred for the time. Niers drummed a heel on the ground. The powder would work as planned. It couldn’t not work.

While they waited, Erin drew the little bag from her pocket.

"Is this your last night here?" she asked.

He took a while to think about it. He hadn’t planned on staying so long, but here he was.

"I couldn’t say."

Erin nodded at this. She had a good instinct for these kinds of things, too.

"So, um. This is for you." She offered it to him, no longer whispering.

It was Niers’ turn to feel stunned.

He took the proffered bundle with one hand, then held it in both.

She’d tied a wide, glittering gold bow around it, wide enough that he couldn’t see anything underneath. For a moment he debated cutting the bow with his sword, but at a tug of the ribbon, the knot slipped away.

The waxed cloth bag inside was more of a tote, the flap on top pressed down to form a tight seal. The luminous scarlet fabric had parallel veins drawn along it in deep, blood red, like the ribs of a leaf.

He opened the pouch and nearly dropped it, struck. 

The small bag held five thick disks, each the same size, like a button to Erin but to Niers they were closer to the size of his face. 

He pulled one out to inspect it. It felt waxy but firm, and turning it over he found a familiar message.

:)

On the next disk, another.

:D

The third was one of his favorites.

\o/

And the fourth, he’d never seen before.

:p

The last piece almost looked close to the first until he turned it to the side.

<:)

"A hat!" He cried out, giddy. He felt light. That is to say, even lighter. Practically weightless.

And all the while, he could smell them, earthy and warm. He’d recognized the scent in an instant, and he’d known then that they were sculpted soap. Lighter than other soaps, buoyant without question, and the etching miniscule. He held one to his nose anyway and closed his eyes, letting the smell transport his memory.

Oats.

Honey and oatmeal.

"I’m not saying you need a bath." Erin watched him. "You’ve totally got that covered! But they’re pretty cute, right? I thought they were cute." She swallowed. "And they need to get really hot before they melt, like boiling water hot."

"These are…" his voice wavered. His brain stammered and stalled. _Cute_ , she’d said. "They are," he breathed. He urged his mouth to speak, to say something. "Thank you. I love it. I love them. They’re perfect."

"Anything--" she coughed lightly and mirrored his smile. "Ah, you’re welcome. I’m really glad you like them, Niers." She sighed. "Really glad."

They watched the jar of leaves, daring an occasional glance skyward.

"I’m still not up to speed." Erin broke the lull. "Why this?"

"I thought it’d be nice, something for your Garden. Something that would fit in. You know," he said, gesturing broadly at everything around them, "variations on a theme."

"Something… Balerosian?"

"Something rare."

Erin nodded at this. "Ah."

To get a better view of Erin and of the little vase, Niers climbed to her knee and sat angled between them. He was still hugging the red bag to his chest when she gave a little shout, but not at him.

Three buds had risen in the water to nestle among the leaves. They floated black in the twilight, each the shape of an arrowhead. Along the largest lay a glowing seam, and a brilliant, fluorescent white peeked through; in the reflected light Erin could see that the buds were in fact dark purple, as dark as eggplant. The split grew, achingly slow, and a fissure appeared on each of the smaller buds, too.

White petals crept one by one from the buds, stretched out like the opening of a paper fan. 

Part way through their arc, the flags themselves uncurled from narrow spikes into slender points, elongated and overlapping, twisted together at their base.

This went on shy of an hour, and neither Erin nor Niers made a sound. When all three flowers made half-circles like rising suns, he began watching Erin out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. The last to emerge from the bud would be inescapable in its difference, and not a petal.

Her sharp indrawn breath, and everything began to change. The most obvious: the fragrance hit them with a heady rush, strongly floral and lightly herbal. 

It smelled verdant and fresh, clean like the green-yellow of a new spring, and cloying with distinctly tropical citrus fruit. The scent blazed warm with hazy spice, overpowering, as if an entire bed of flowers lie crushed at their feet.

Less obvious but still glaring were the flowers themselves. No longer white, each span of petals had faded in succession from silvery brightness through cerulean to cobalt, then to ultramarine.

Finally, and easiest to miss had they dared take their eyes away, the buds, now exhausted of petals, loosed a coil of delicate threads that glowed yellow, and the whorl was puny compared to one of the unfurled petals. But like the petals, they too began to unwind, spiraled filaments dancing like a sea anemone swirling in the current. Also like the petals, the wispy strands transformed over the minutes, these flashing from yellows to fiery coral, then to striking ruby.

Some time later, the petals shifted yet again, now to an incandescent violet, and ultimately into nothingness, hidden in the dark. The feathery tendrils, floating and now faded to garnet, began to dissolve as if they were plumes of red smoke. Flecks of burgundy drifted in the air around them like snow.

Erin, tired and dizzy, sat spellbound.

"Wow." Voice a shadow of hushed awe, she looked to Niers.

"Yeah?" He beamed in delight.

"What’re they called?"

"Flowers, Erin."

Her eyes fluttered in disorientation.

"No, I mean, this flower. Does it have a name?"

"Depends who you ask. Candle Lilies, most often; that's the name everyone knows. Or Summer Candles," he said, smiling to think of the other terms. "Witch-Be-Gone; I never understood that one." It sounded like a rustic myth, and not one he cared to explore, either. "Hide-in-the-Garden, that’s the Fraerling name for them." She pierced him with a disarming smile. "And there’s Nymph's Crown, like the butterfly?" He felt warmth suffuse his neck, his face. There were other names, ones he should definitely not mention. "Gorewisp's Bane." He’d be yammering soon, talking just to fill the quiet.

He thought he might die from the heat. Those other names were not subtle _at all_.

"What are gorewisps?" She sounded suddenly uneasy.

"Oh, bugs. You know, the invisible mosquitoes? They avoid the lilies in bloom."

"Invisible _what_?"

"They only look like mosquitoes because they’re barbed. So, don’t hit them, and you're fine."

"What happens if you do?"

"You’ll learn why ‘gore’ is in their name? You'll never swat at them again?"

"So they’ve got a once burned, twice shy thing going on?"

"You could say that."

"But they _are_ invisible?" She didn’t strike him as reassured.

"Everyone from Baleros knows what they are, but no one else believes it! They're just bugs!" He threw his hands into the air.

"So, to sum up. There are invisible bugs."

"Invisible _sometimes_."

"Invisible bugs, but these flowers repel them."

"Kills them outright."

"Oh, now I can sleep at night. For four hours, under some conditions," she deadpanned. 

"It gets too cold here. You won't see them in Izril."

"Or ever!"

" _Temporarily_ invisible!"

"For a second, I was worried."

He gave her a roguish grin, and she looked at him and marvelled, face awash in moonlight, heart beating wildly. She gave a wry smile and a slow shake of her head.

"Poor canaries," she sighed.

He elected to remain silent, and he added her remark to his list of puzzles.

"Thank you," she whispered, staring where the lilies had retreated into the water. "This is incredible. Thank you so much." She let the quiet drag out for a moment, both of them enjoying the lingering scent. "I really love it."

He didn't need to know why she was a [Singer], honestly; it probably wasn't an interesting reason, and she'd surely tell him the story if it was a worthwhile one, which it apparently wasn't, because she didn't. He'd forget about it soon enough. Probably. Eventually.

"The pleasure’s mine, Erin."

Niers could find silence any time, whenever he wanted. With minimal effort, mostly. He just didn’t care to, largely. Nevertheless, there were times when silence was its own kind of gift.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not perfect, but it's a story.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
